


of lover's ruin some sad tragedy

by Steve



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 19:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steve/pseuds/Steve
Summary: (“They’re snakes,” Marian Hawke had declared, an impish glint in her eye. “I mean, it’s right in their bloody mascot—how obvious can you get?”“Come off it, Hawke,” laughed Varric. “I know you’re still mooning over a certain seventh-yearsnakeyourself. A certain brutish Beater, your maiden of the sea and sky—”Hawke cut him off with an armchair cushion to the face.)In which Isabela and Hawke are Quidditch rivals and occasional snog buddies, and it would be absolutely outrageous to suggest any capital-F Feelings existing between them beyond that.





	of lover's ruin some sad tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this little snippet ages ago, part of my sprawling, entirely self-indulgent Dragon Age Hogwarts AU that I will never finish nor post in full.
> 
> I have really strong opinions on the House system in general, but all you need to know is that Hawke's a sixth-year Hufflepuff and Isabela's a seventh-year Slytherin at the time of this scene.

Hawke’s hand was warm against her face when she said, teasing grin on her lips, “I could write poetry about you.”

Isabela shifted, her cheek pressing Hawke’s fingers into the prickly grass beneath them. She smirked. “Let me guess: an ode to the many talents of my tongue?”

“Oh, I could certainly start there,” laughed Hawke, darting forward to press kisses down Isabela’s neck, her breath hot on her skin. “‘O Isabela, thou make me scream...’”

Her fingers curled in the back of Hawke’s short hair, all but shoving Hawke’s lips closer to her. “Do go on, then,” she murmured, breathless.

“Your tongue is an instrument of pleasure.” Hawke’s mouth traced the shape of her throat before trailing down towards her chest. “Your quick fingers my guiding compass.”

“You are awful at this,” remarked Isabela. “Keep going.”

“Your pleasure is my pleasure, your moan is my music—”

“—oh, since when did you make _me_ moan, Hawke—”

“Your beauty is incomparable,” she breathed, lips between her breasts, “and when you smile, my sun rises.”

“Oh, suns _rise_ , all right,” Isabela said, but her fingers in Hawke’s hair were gentler, now.

“You, sweetheart,” she forged on, “are warm pools of amber.” She laid one, two, three feather-light kisses on her left shoulder, and Isabela suppressed a shiver. “You are absence and saltwater grins.” Three more kisses in the crook of her elbow. “You are light, sheer light, you are.”

Hawke was back to Isabela’s neck now, and somewhere along the way her tone had turned from teasing to near reverence. Abruptly and without warning, Isabela tugged hard on raven hair before shoving Hawke off of her and jolting upright. Hawke rolled onto her back and stared up at her with sad, bewildered eyes.

“Oh, Hawke,” Isabela sighed. “What the fuck am I going to do with you?”

Hawke tamed her face into a mask of innocence. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

She shook her head. _This absolute goon._ “I’m afraid,” she said, “it’s about time you return to your dormitory.”

“That isn’t for you to decide.” Hawke sniffed, and sat up, waggling her brows. “Maybe I’ll visit Gryffindor tower. Who knows? Anders might appreciate my company. Fenris, even. I do have many charms.”

“That you do, sweet thing.”

Hawke softened, then, and lifted a hand to Isabela’s hair. Isabela didn’t push her away. “Hey,” she said, serious, “I never said I wanted anything more than what this has to be.”

“Oh, please,” Isabela snorted. “You’re composing bad love poems about me, babbling on about sunrises and amber. You are _infatuated_.”

“Ah, that must be it,” Hawke said fondly. “I must have fallen in love with your humility.”

“You won’t be laughing when I break your adorable Hufflepuff heart, sweet thing.”

Hawke’s eyebrows knitted together. “My _House_ ,” she said, leaning forward, “has nothing to do with my absolutely nonexistent feelings for you.”

“Then let’s make a pact.” Isabela stood. Spit on the ground beside Hawke and smirked at the quirk of her brow. “We save our little flings for post-Quidditch match hate highs, all right? No more utterly sappy late-night rendezvous.”

“Deal,” Hawke said immediately, hopping to her feet as well. “But,” she said, winking, and surprised Isabela by wrapping a muscled arm around her waist, “a few Quidditch matches a year isn’t enough for me, unfortunately. I might start climaxing every time I see a quaffle.”

Isabela grinned wider, her lips an inch from Hawke’s. “I suppose we’ll have to find some broom closets, then. Empty classrooms, too.” She leaned in. The stars were spread out above their heads, and yes, yes, it was almost romantic. Hawke’s breathing was hot against Isabela’s mouth. “For the good of organized sporting events, of course, you see.”

They kissed: it was romantic.

 (Well, crap.)

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me on [Tumblr](http://www.halfgap.tumblr.com). The title is from Sidney's Sonnet 45; I'm procrastinating a term paper on him and he's kind of a jerk.


End file.
